


honey, is that true

by misgivings (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caretaking, Drunkenness, F/M, Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/misgivings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds her passed out on a wicker chair in the backyard, paper lanterns swaying overhead, no one paying any attention. (written for a prompt on the kinkmeme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	honey, is that true

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://homesmut.livejournal.com/15023.html?thread=30073775#t30073775). Ain't nothing too bad here.

He finds her passed out on a wicker chair in the backyard, paper lanterns swaying overhead, no one paying any attention. One of her shoes is kicked off, pitch black on dried grass, he makes sure to grab it, knowing she'll be furious if she can't find it in the morning. He puts a thumb to her pulse, more out of habit than anything.

(A tiny, relieved sigh can be heard when he feels it there, the gentle thrum that indicates she's okay.)

He picks up the pieces she's shattered into, being mindful of jagged edges. He's learned that she can hurt him without meaning to, by this point. Her skin is smooth as silk, white as milk in the moonlit summer night. She buries her head into his chest, mumbling incoherent words, pouting like a child.

Her nails are painted shiny, flawless Barbie pink he notes as she curls her fingers around the edge of the toilet she's vomiting into. One hand on her back, the other smoothing her bangs back, he murmurs, "it's okay, you're okay," and he wants to yell at her, to tell her how stupid she is, because she's so much smarter than this.

But she looks at him, bloodshot eyes and tearstains on her cheeks, mascara running (he'll have to help her wipe that off in the morning), and he can't say anything like that.

He traces idle patterns on the line of her spine as she chokes on bile, as she moans and whines and asks him to make it stop, says, "please, please, please," and all he can do is whisper stories, recollections and remember whens. She giggles before retching a little more, holding her stomach and hiccuping, full bottom lip trembling.

Body wracked with shivers, she doesn't want to stand up, so he stays with her, eyes on the blue veins in her arms. He kisses the side of her neck as she breathes shakily, and rests his head on her shoulder, arms around her waist, he holds her in place.

She leans back against him, a contented hum on her lips, oh, she's never lost as long as he's there.

He talks about the time they went on a road trip down to the gulf, white hot sand and barely there bikini, how she dropped her chocolate covered ice cream on the beach. That gets a wry smile and a hand on his knee, a silent thank you, one he'll never ask her to say.

In his arms she is feather light, and just as soft. Arms around his neck, legs around his waist, he carries her like she's a toddler to bed, and she refuses to let him leave her there. She snores softly, more a kitten purr than anything, curled up with her head pillowed on his chest. He threads fingers through her hair and thinks about what to make for breakfast.

Connecting cracks in the ceiling, he sees cats and hats and strings of hearts, but never any skulls.


End file.
